PLEASE READ THE FOREWORD!
| enemies to lovers | dagger to throat | morally grey oc | slow-burn | dark themes | gore | violence | toxicity | corruption arc | golden era | mythology references | dark fantasy | 18+
Ariadne smirked at him, staring at b...
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𝖈𝖍𝖆𝖕𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖊𝖎𝖌𝖍𝖙𝖊𝖊𝖓
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𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐀𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐌𝐏𝐓 𝐎𝐅 𝐀𝐒𝐒𝐀𝐒𝐒𝐈𝐍𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 had been a blow to Tom Riddle's ego. To think that Velasquez could try and kill him was a terrible notion. She could not kill him; those little knives would not help her, no matter how hard she tried.
"I am playing your game?" he declared, his features carved from ice. Tom's dark, arching eyebrows and sardonic twist in his mouth projected villainy. "No, Velasquez. You are playing mine."
Fear thrilled Ariadne like a note shivering up and down the strings of a harp. She was almost tempted to shudder, but instead, she questioned imperiously. "Why would you say that?"
Tom smirked as he twirled her across the ballroom. Her dress was black, the color rising from the bottom to the top of the sweetheart neckline. Tom felt everyone looking at them as they danced.
"Did you not think about the men you killed in the ambush? Tell me did their faces plague your dreams?" he queried, and Ariadne's brow furrowed.
"Why would I care about scum like them?" she sneered.
Tom's dark gaze shone with something wicked as he leaned down, warm lips brushing her hair. "Because they were not scum, dear."
Ariadne's fingers dug deep into Tom's arms. She thought he'd dismiss it as just another one of their cat-and-mouse games. That he wouldn't notice her unease when she asked him a question, desperate for something to occupy her time before her legs stopped moving. "And why would I believe that?"
She listened to the low, deep, and unnervingly chuckle from Tom. Her eyes took in the ballroom, and Ariadne was sure every set of eyes followed the boy clutching her waist.
"Because," he whispered into her hair. Each syllable was as slow and seductive as the lazy brush of his fingertips across the bottom of her rib cage, near the dagger strapped to her thigh. "I planned the ambush. I planned to kill you, but I knew you would get out of there alive. So, I decided to torment you."
"What?"
Tom hummed under his breath. "One of them was a farmer. Another one was a baker, and the other one was a mechanic. All of them were innocent little muggles."
His lips remained in her hair. To anyone they passed, it probably looked like he were genuinely enamored, whispering sweet nothings into her ear. But none of them knew what type of monster he indeed was. After all, the worst demons often looked like saints.
